When they Stopped Counting
by 2slow4unow
Summary: "They were just people. Normal people in a normal place. It wasn't their fault it all froze. It wasn't their fault they got caught in the middle of it. But, in the end, they just stopped counting." FULL SUMMARY INSIDE. Chrome x [to be decided. Vote!] PG-13/T, possibly M later.
1. Intro

**When they Stopped Counting**

**Introduction**

_"They were just people. Normal people in a normal place. It wasn't their fault it all froze. It wasn't their fault they got caught in the middle of it. But, in the end, they just stopped counting."_

Present day. Plans for the future. Memories of the past. The world, striving, moving, like one big creature, and the little kids inside running through the playgrounds, thriving for what's to come.

Future. Plans for the now. Wishes of the past.

Disaster.

All over Earth, every big city to every little village. Rain stopped falling. The sun stopped shining. Life died and then turned gray, as every bit of willful substance had the energy sucked out of it. Dust fell as volcanoes glowed, and the ocean began to still. Some teens, the seeds of the future, did too. As hospitals got packed with comatose children, other kids found that they had simply given up. Some turned explosively violent, sending community after community into a hopeless state of chaos. However, one girl travels across the world with the message of her brother, finding the wills of those who have fallen asleep and not woken up. One girl, a clock which refuses to acknowledge when they stopped counting.

* * *

C

_Main Characters: Chrome, and probably two others who I haven't decided on. But mostly Chrome._

_Other Characters: Pretty much all other characters, from A to Z. This time, I won't be using crappy OCs, or any OCs at all._

_Rating: Pg-13, possibly M later on. _

_Update Speed: From daily to weekly, and no longer unless I say so._

_Pairings: Of all magnitudes. Boy/Boy, Boy/Girl, and Girl/Girl. There will be romance, but between which characters I've got no clue. FEEL FREE TO SUGGEST PAIRINGS._

_So. This is the first story I've planned on writing since I ditched Faceless nearly a year ago. I know I kinda totally completely let down the people who were reading it, but my drive kind of died. I don't plan on letting this story die as easily, though. Due to 'life stuff' I think my perspective on writing kind of changed, and I want to make something on here that's more unique. Faceless was really bland, cliché and had too many idiot characters. Hopefully I've improved. I'm working on the first chapter now, and in a day or so I'll be done. In an effort to not get tired of writing that quickly I'll try and pace myself after spring break and write between when I'm studying and practicing. So yeah. I suck at author's notes and stuff. Also the Chrome writers sure have changed over the past year 0.0. WHERE IS DEADLY-CHRONICLES?!_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: 60 Days**

An explosion of fire and iron erupted from behind him, the heat singeing his hair, the metal cutting through calloused hands. Frenzied howls and snarls of hounds dulled the sound of his even more frenzied panting, until he felt his chest would cave in, or worse, simply combust. Rounding the corner on a painful dash, he propelled himself down an open manhole, to the sewer below, and under the icy current.

Up above, the barks stopped at the hole. Dirt and rubble kicked down from several sets of huge paws, but were then pulled back as the voices of men silenced them. The boy, gasping for air and shooting through the water, couldn't hear the words, but it didn't matter now. He was safe. Safe as a thief, scoundrel and delinquent could be.

Or so he thought. In front of him, a cloaked figure reached out. Gloved fingers. Hard boots. Floating in the air, right above the water, like magic. Only magic…doesn't exist. The figure grabbed the boy as he struggled and kicked, but the energy had died from him. His movements were sluggish and weak. And so, as he was slammed against the wall, the fight left him. As the dogs began to howl, a trigger was pulled, and the boy's rugged scream was the only thing heard.

* * *

Wrapped neatly in the thin white sheets of a hospital bed, a young man, no older than seventeen lay asleep. His hair was as white as the cot but held a dead glow, hardly shining against the moonlight. Several tubes were strapped and pierced to his just as pale skin, taught from lack of nutrients, but it took nothing away from his mystifying appearance. If she didn't know better, the cloaked figure who walked in would've thought he was dead by the way his hands were placed neatly one over the other, his chest hardly rising.

The girl walked over to the side of his bed, making no sound as her bare feet hit the floor. Behind her stood another cloaked figure, much taller, but only because she was quite short. However, there was no way to tell which one of the two seemed superior.

The girl extended her hand. Like the boy's, it looked deathly pale. Only, as soon as it touched his forehead, it began to glow. A light, warm kind of glow, purple like lavenders and no brighter than a candle. Her lips parted in a silence whisper, body wavering.

The one behind her moved forward just in time to catch the girl's limp form.

* * *

Hayato Gokudera let out a gaping yawn, hearing the satisfying cracks as his long, pianists fingers flexed and extended again. It was a good day. In fact, it was always a good day, with the sun's warm rays beaming onto his bed, and the distinct smell of pastries and tea seeping through his closed door. Not bothering to change out of his sleep gown, he walked into the kitchen to see a wide plate of assortments and drinks, the usual little things that his father's cooks always set out. Among the fruit tarts and iced buns and breads he spotted his favorites, and ate in a rush.

He had to prepare for a concert, after all.

It was his father's birthday today, and he wanted to surprise him with something special.

In moments he had washed, changed, and prepared his music. However, when he went down to practice, he heard the familiar melody of…of…

What was the song again? He couldn't seem to remember what, only that it was old and Italian and had a certain ring to it he loved. And that his mother played it frequently, like how she was now, her long hair silky and waving along with the pulse of her body moving to the beat. He stood by the arc to the grand piano and watched her play perfectly, notes so delicate yet deep and full and dark in the open, lovely manner he couldn't seem to master. When she was done, the birds seemed to sing back, and she smiled.

"Isn't it a beautiful day, Hayato?" She mused, her voice kind and soft like her music. The words hung in the air for a moment. The birds stopped singing. Then he smiled back, the chirping resuming, and the air light.

"It is, Mother."

"Perfect for a party."

"Perfect for Father's occasion."

"You'll make your father proud," she noted warmly. "Just wait—you'll be a better pianist than both of us in the end!"

He blushed, looking away. He could hear his mother laugh. "Come on, practice with me." And he nodded, cheeks still splashed with pink, and took a seat beside her. The bench was big enough for at least four of them, yet they were close together as they played, arms crossing every now and then. It reminded him of when he was first taught to play, and how her warm hands would touch his and guide him along. She was still outplaying him now, smooth as water, whereas his gestures were more choppy and reluctant. Yet, it all seemed too unreal, the contrast between them. His mother played even better than he'd last remembered—rather than playing, her hands were practically floating, gliding across the board in a ghastly manner that unnerved him. However, by the time they had finished playing, the feeling was gone.

"I put his gift in the trunk," she told him, smiling. "I'll get the car running. Be a dear and fetch your sister?"

Begrudgingly, he nodded.

"And _please_ don't start yelling across the house again…"

"That's only when _she's_ being a—"

"No cursing."

"Sorry."

Gokudera was given a stern, half-joking glare before his mother disappeared across the corner, her high heels clacking off in the distance. Releasing a sigh, he trudged up the stairs for Bianchi. Given the circumstances, he guessed she was still doing her hair or something of the like—or worse, still in the shower. She had absolutely no sense of time, and it didn't help that she was, well, a girl. He could never comprehend why it took them ages to prepare for the most menial occasions.

He knocked loudly on the door. No response. Another knock, this time so hard he could hear it ring.

"Hey! Bianchi!" He yelled.

A thump. An inaudible curse, and the sound of something clattering to the ground. Gokudera sighed just as his sister opened the door, visibly ticked off, a broken comb kicked off to the side. He lifted an eyebrow.

"Wow. I was right; you were doing your hair weren't you?"

Bianchi whacked him over the head. "Not anymore, thanks to you, irritating excuse for a brother." And then she grinned devilishly, the tension dissolving instantly. "I'd expand on your total lack of brain cells, but there's a party to host. Ma is waiting for us to go to the hall, isn't she?"

"Waiting for _you_," he retorted. She rolled her eyes.

They headed back downstairs. Gokudera's skin prickled—in just over ten minutes, he and his family would be over at one of the most expensive halls in the country. Then he'd play the symphony for his father—he would be so proud! And Bianchi and his mother would watch. There'd be those spicy cocktails he wasn't really allowed to have, but he'd take one anyway, just as long as his mother didn't see. Lastly there'd be the many young women who watched him perform, coated in their gaudy dresses and fake hair and false beauty and artificial, distinctly chemical stench. And he wouldn't be interested, because that one shining star would be there, in clean gold and fresh simplicity and—

A combustive bang shattered his thoughts. The house seemed to shake and swirl for a split second before his vision went black, only to return moments later. He turned to his older sister who stared him down, slightly abrasive as usual. However, an uncanny spark flickered in her gaze.

"What was that?" Gokudera breathed. He felt it. It was beneath him, that much was certain. In the corner of his eye he could glimpse the basement door, pulling at his curiosity.

But Bianchi put her hand on his shoulder. "What was what?" She asked. "Come on, Ma is waiting. You were the one getting me, remember?"

He looked at the basement door. Then he ripped his eyes from it and looked back at Bianchi, forcing a nod and a surprised stare. "Oh! You go ahead. I just remembered; my music sheets are still by the piano."

It was weird, how easily the lie dropped from his lips.

She let go of him. "Don't take too long, or we'll be late." And she walked off, going through the exact same steps his mother did.

"I won't," he called. Then he waited. She was gone, probably in the front seat by now, wondering when he'd arrive.

Gokudera found himself at the door. The cold metal rested at his fingertips, and he shuddered. He would only take a second. Just a moment. It was just the basement…chances were, the shake back then was just the start of a migrane….or something. Just a bit of a neural ailment. Maybe he got a concussion.

The door flung open. Slowly he walked down the dark set of stairs, unable to find the light switch. So, instead, he crouched low and held the handrail, his opposite hand extended just in case. However, he soon found that such a precaution was unnecessary. As the stairwell ended, a dull glow began, creeping across the bare floors and cracked walls, the color of lavenders and no brighter than a candle. Though the glow seemed like it would be snuffed out in any given moment, it seemed to clarify the stuffy, dusty box-filled room by tenfold, so that his eyes could catch the lines of where a rat's claws had raked.

In fact, the shadows of rats could now be seen slinking across the boxes, fluidly, soundlessly. He wondered, for a moment, how he couldn't hear their little paws skittering by.

And then he remembered.

There were no rats in his house.

Gokudera yelled in surprise as the shadows, actually just one large shadow, lunged forward. Something long and hard shoved him against a nearby wall, where he stayed against it, too shocked to move. And in front of him, where the glow seemed brightest was a girl no older than he, bearing a trident level with his chin and a robe over her. A single violet eye bore through him, so unreadable and so mysterious it seemed as if he was looking at an illusion.

"That's quite ironic," she murmured up to him. He had spoken aloud, and she had heard him. "After all, you have been looking at an illusion this whole time, and I am the only thing that's real."

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, _anything_, but nothing came out. The girl tilted her head.

"…Or, am I an illusion because I _am_ real?"

* * *

_Um...well...this is short. And rather boring. But it's the best I can do after not writing for a year X.X. OMG someone remembers me?! Oh it's you Madison! 333 Thanks :). It's too bad Deadly-Chronicles isn't around anymore, huh D: I loved her stuff :( Anywhooo, next chapter idk what I'm gonna do...just writing on a whim as always. Wink Wink. Also, for clarification, the chapters have no titles. The whole '60 days' thing is a whole different kind of...thing. I guess. Yeah. Okay bye feel free to ask questions and all that jazz._


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: 59 Days**

Amidst the haze of pouring rain, a single bar blasting old rock music could be seen, its wide, multicolored lights piercing through the dark. Though the clock had just struck midnight, the liveliness hadn't dimmed—in fact, it simply multiplied. No one would be sleeping tonight. Leaning against the outside wall, away from the core of the excitement, a young woman fumbled for a lighter. Her cigar hung half burnt from her lips, but the moisture had cooled it down.

Must've left it inside, she thought bitterly, after searching in vain. Then there was a deep sigh, and she tossed it out into the street. Her head was still spinning from the mugs of beer she drank hours ago, but that only stimulated her need for some action. She hadn't gotten a good bit of exercise in ages, and she was beginning to worry that her muscles had died and her wit gone dull and her tricks stale. Which would be bad, since then how would she earn the next paycheck?

"Essie? Man, I was wondering where you'd run off to."

She pulled down her hood, regretting not doing so before. She'd bet that with her partner's crappy eyes, he wouldn't have seen her in black, in the dark.

"Shut up."

A heavy, rude arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Come on, open up!"

He bent down, and peeked under her hood, practically dropping half in height as he did so. He was so much taller, after all. She tried not to fume as his droopy blue eyes looked at her, shifty, even shiftier when matched with his big smirk. Instantly, she noticed the pink flush of his cheeks, and the sticky smell that seemed to cling to his long, white hair.

"Say something, Essie-Ess! It's a new day…with new opportunities…"

"You're drunk."

"…And a new mission…"

And now he had her attention.

"What mission?" Essie demanded. Her partner stood up straight again, and laughed loudly.

"It's a fun one. A very, very fun one. Also an important one."

"Cut to the chase, Squalo."

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "Yeah yeah, I was getting there. Shuh-EESH. So. Yeah. It's pretty much the same case as last time. You know, where we had to look for the big-bad-mist user? Only this time, we're looking for his accomplices."

"Accomplices?" She echoed. Her eyebrows knit together, before she remembered the files they trashed on their previous assignment. Rokudo Mukuro. Mist user. And he was travelling with three other youths, all with alike potentials.

"Mukuro's pets."

"Bingo!" Squalo yelled, teetering of balance for a moment. Then he downed the rest of a beer Essie didn't know he had. "We search. We shoot. We win. We get the big bucks!" He paused. "Actually, we don't need much of the 'searching crap'. The boys up there found that out already. But, man, if we screw this up we're as dead as they'll be."

Essie smirked. They never screw up. The cash is pretty much in their pockets. However, the risk seemed painfully high. Ever since the big shots split the rings, everything was a hair's length from disaster. Sure disaster makes money, sure it's good profit for all the mafia, but that would mean nothing if they all decided to turn on her.

"Here's the papers," her partner said, handing her a stack of forms and overviews. "I didn't really read them yet, though; I just remembered what the guy said on the phone."

She read them over twice before stuffing them in her cloak. Then she sighed at the contents, and glared at Squalo. This idiot. "Sober up, moron. We're setting out in an hour."

"Roger that, Essie," he joked, stepping out in the rain. Chances were, he'd still be drunk a day from now.

"Oh, and Squalo?"

"Hm?"

She scowled. "For the last time, don't call me by my first name."

He grinned. "All right…Mammon."

* * *

Gokudera seethed, his fingers twitching, eyes narrowed, and tense all over. He'd tried making a break back upstairs, deciding that a trident in his face would not go in his favor, but then that girl appeared in front of him. The door was shut now, and the only source of light was the girl. Well, not really the girl—just her one eye, now blazing an indigo hue. Where the hell had she come from? Thin air? He'd heard of weird things that defied all laws of nature…things that his father was a part of. But he'd never thought they were true. In fact, he couldn't recall precisely what those things were. It was as if someone smudged away all the details, and left behind only the shape.

"Whoever you are, _get the fuck out_ before I get the _police_ in here!" He threatened, one hand hovering over his back pocket. They'd take care of this mystery girl if he couldn't, no matter what bit of magic was at play.

She returned his ferocious glare with her unchanging glance. Though he was trying to be intimidating, she was making him even more uncomfortable by the way he could see nothing of her. Her being was simply the eye at the moment, for the rest was covered in darkness.

"You're just like the others," the girl replied instead, emotionless. "Try doing what I say. Take a breath. Choose rationality over _what you want_."

What was she talking about? Gokudera grabbed her by the collar of the cloak, and shoved her against the steps of the staircase above him. She didn't attack back. Instead, her trident willingly dropped to the ground…and vanished, swallowed up by the black.

"I don't understand you. I have to get to a party. I'm performing for my father. You are making me _late_," he snarled. However, his head had already begun to get light, swirling with questions and confusion. The longer he stared at her and that eye, that _goddamn eye_, he felt more and more at loss of sense. Shaking his head wildly, as if to shake off the confusion, he lost his balance and stepped back. Both of them tumbled down the stairs, deeper to the blind darkness, and landed with a thunk. Gokudera ended up on top, his fist still grasping her cloak. If she was planning on running, she couldn't now… when he calls the police, she'd be trapped, since it seemed, after all, that she was so much smaller than him.

"Why do you insist on fighting me?" The girl questioned. And so he found them gazing at each other, he hopelessly captivated and she still blank.

"You broke into my house. Of course I'm fighting you!"

"I didn't. I just broke into you."

"What? Crazy girl—why are you talking to me like…like…"

She ignored him. "Are you naturally violent?"

"You—no! You sound like a fucking therapist…!"

"You attacked me."

"In self defense."

His mind swam.

"Who is your mother?"

Gokudera hissed as a flash of pain shot through his skull. For a split second he saw a woman, someone he'd never seen before, standing next to his father. He smelled sickly sweet perfume and saw her fake smile and Bianchi in her arms. A little baby Bianchi. And he saw an explosion, a different place, a car. Blood. A different woman, the woman who he was playing piano with moments before, but dead in an almost unrecognizable form. Sirens. Ambulances. Police.

"Do you remember who your mother is?"

He recalled no name. Now her face had fled from his memory. But he remembered the words of his fathers, the lies, the claims, and then the truth discovered.

"She's dead," he whispered, almost subconsciously. The girl seemed to smile, and the memories came flooding back. Everything was so wrong—his mother never played the piano. His mother was dead. His father…he didn't even want to think about his father. His 'mother figure' was actually just a fake. A living doll who just happened to give birth to Bianchi, and just happened to be the reason why his real mother was killed.

His life was a wreck. A mess of sadness, misfortune, hate and regret. His world was imperfect, stuffed with things he didn't want which just got more bitter after his mother's murder.

He hated it.

This world was so much better.

And now he remembered the disaster, which tore away from him with poisoned claws the last thing he cared about. He remembered his sister's wild, agonized eyes as a bullet tore through her throat, blood rushing out in clots, skin ripped to ribbons and peeling from the muscle. He also remembered the silhouette behind her, he who held the gun, then disappeared with Bianchi's corpse. And Gokudera could do nothing, as he was merely a pianist plagued by the greed of his father.

The girl's gaze hardened. The glow brightened, so he could see the tears he didn't know fell.

"You can't get back what you've lost," she said softly, in contrast to the intensity of her eye. "But you can change things. Get revenge on those who pained you and those you love."

"But I can't undo what's been done. You can't offer that," he stated, voice rugged. He liked it here; whether it was a fantasy or not. An illusion like what she said. He could see what he couldn't in reality. His family, smiling, proud of him after he perfected the piece of his dreams.

"I can't," she murmured. "The only thing you can do is build the future. Then maybe, what you've lost won't be gone for nothing."

"What If I say I don't want to."

He was met with silence. Then, in an even tone, she replied, "Then kill me, right here, right now. Everything—your happiness, those you love—will be yours in this world. You can live and be happy and the disaster won't exist anymore. For you. It'll be as if I never came here. You would remember nothing."

Tears still flowing freely, he let go of her collar. Then both his hands, damp and fuzzy as his eyes blurred, curled around her throat. His arms shook, and he couldn't stop. They tightened, but her eye remained steady and revealed nothing. They tightened some more, and she felt so much more vulnerable than he would have ever guessed. One little squeeze, a pull in the right direction and snap! It would all be over. He could feel his mother's warmth and Bianchi's caring teases. Just a little bit.

Still shaking, he stood up. He turned around and his heart pounded like it might just burst. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted to, it just wouldn't be right, both to kill her and forget about his life.

"I can't," he said flatly. "Just go. Get the fuck out and don't come back—I'm not leaving, but I'm not ending this either."

He could feel her burning a hole in the back of his head.

"That's pitiful. You can't make a decision. I thought that finally…after all this time…maybe I would have a comrade."

He turned around, but she was gone, as was the glow and the scent of lavender. There, in the suffocating dark, he dried his tears and walked upstairs.

* * *

The girl awoke sitting next to Hayato Gokudera's bed, a cold draft coming in from the open window next to her. Her partner was peering out edgily, his golden brown eyes cold. He looked down when he realized she'd awoken, and pulled the window completely open. She shivered.

"I take it…things didn't go as planned," he grunted, giving Gokudera a disapproving glance. She shook her head, getting up to look at the boy's untroubled face. She had hoped for the best. She had come close…so close it was painful. She couldn't remember how many hospitals they had visited for hopes of bringing back those who would otherwise no longer return, how many girls and boys of young and old remained trapped in their fantasies and nightmares.

She was no closer to her goal than she was a year ago, the day disaster struck.

"Where to next?" She asked.

A pause. Then a sigh heavy enough for both of them. "Tonight, just somewhere to hide," he muttered. His pupils flashed a deadly light. "I can smell danger—two people. Two with potential, but at least ten others without. They stink of the double Vs."

He jerked at her with his chin. "Don't lag behind."

And they vaulted from the window.

* * *

_DUN DUN DUUUUNNNNN. I tried to make it more interesting…but I dunno it's kinda slow right now. SO. I decided to make Mammon a girl, 'cuz, well, he always struck me as a girl when I didn't know his gender -/-. And the nickname 'Essie' that Squalo calls her is derived from Mammon's first name, 'Esper'. Mammon and Squalo are 18, Gokudera is 17 here and Chrome is 16/17. Yeah. I probably made some typos, though, 'cuz I don't really re-read my stuff half the time ^.^'_

_C.N.D: Thankya :3. 0.o Don't kill meh! xD I'll keep that in mind next time I lose motivation_


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